Night falls on the town forest behind my house. At the high end of the trail leading up to the mansion that sits at the top of Juniper Hill nest hermit thrushes. Their songs wobble across the canopy. I imagine you standing here beside me, mesmerized.

I realized tonight that it’s just as easy to get lost in thought when walking a woodland trail at dusk as it is walking the trail in sunlight. But the forest smells seem stronger when sight is less necessary. Bounding energetically over exposed tree roots, or strolling shoulder to shoulder everlasting, we used to talk about our futures with an optimism as real and absolute as our ambitions. Dreams since pursued and abandoned, replaced and reimagined. I was never lost in my thoughts when next to you.

Lectures have finished for the term. I feel relief. The writing course I told you about sent me down memory wells still flush with emotional reverberation. My lows were balanced with equally intense periods of ecstasy and all I want to do now is level off. Restrictions due to the raging pandemic make Vermont feel ever more isolating, but with summer approaching and vaccination rates rising, I imagine a summer defined by new connections and good company. My work at the restaurant has been the one stable force in my life this year and I’m incredibly thankful for the company of my coworkers. Like so many relationships from my past, it is sad to think that the relationships I have now will one day be unavailable to me.

The hermit thrushes sing at dusk. When you visit, I’ll take you to hear them. Afterwards we’ll lie in the grass in the backyard and watch the fireflies play magic in the moonlight. Perhaps we might even persuade one to cast its spells upon us.

Ver todos los episodios